Kid With The Messed Up Face
by TryingCrying
Summary: Losing an eye changes Carl. From injury to recovery, the road ahead is a painful one.
1. Chapter 1

Carl saw the walker that made Sam stop. It was just a child, shuffling past them in bloodstained blue pajamas. Sam gasped when he saw it, and immediately let go of Rick's hand.

Jessie was by his side in an instant.

"Sam?" Her voice was gentle, motherly. "Come on."

The group crawled to a halt behind them, watching the walker's growing interest in Sam. Blood and guts dripped from their clothes, pooling onto the pavement now that they were stationary.

"Sweetheart," Jessie pulled at his hand, "Sam?"

Sam stayed put, the panic on his face growing.

Rick joined in. "Come on Sam," he pleaded. He leaned in so that he would be on Sam's level, but his eyes were darting to the crowd around them, watching for threats.

Sam's face twisted. He began to cry.

"You can do this," Ron whispered from behind Carl, "Just look at mom."

Jessie pulled on his arm again, but Sam refused to move. The group began to fidget, restless as the walkers moved around them.

"You can do it" Jessie insisted, convincing herself as much as her son. "Baby, I need you to come with me. I need you to be strong."

Sam's expression didn't change, but he shook his head. There were so many people whispering at him now it was hard to tell who he was responding to.

"I want to." He whimpered through tears, voice breaking. "I want to."

Then the walkers were on him. One grabbed his jaw, another sinking what teeth it had into his shoulder.

" _Mommy!"_ his shriek rose above the moaning walkers, echoing off the houses around them. Then there was a third one on him and blood running down his face and he went down in a mess of hands and teeth and rotting flesh.

Jessie didn't let go of his hand.

Her scream of anguish was what really got the walker's attention. It was louder and longer than Sam's had been, and her continued sobbing drew in everything on the city block.

Ron stayed silent, blinking tears away from his eyes.

Rick put a hand on her shoulder, but Jessie didn't seem to notice. " _SAM"_ she wailed, oblivious to their blown cover.

" _SAM!"_

"Come with us" Carl begged, eyes trained on the walkers closing in. They were immobile and exposed. "We have to go."

Before he could say anything else the walkers had pulled her down too. Carl watched, mouth hanging open in shock as the first one bit into Jessie. Her screaming resumed.

"No," Rick shook his head, tears already sliding down his nose. "No." He turned away.

Carl tried to move backwards, towards Michonne, towards safety. But he found he couldn't. Jessie's fingers dug into his skin. He couldn't tell if she was dead just yet, it was impossible to tell her cries from the walker's now. But he couldn't break the hold she had on his arm. He pulled against it, trying to keep from getting yanked into the walker's waiting teeth. Even with all his weight against it, he couldn't break away from her grasp.

Carl didn't know Rick had unsheathed his axe until it came down on Jessie's wrist. The impact shot up his arm like it was his bone the blade had cut into. He could see Jessie's skin split, first red the white, then the tension released and he fell backwards.

With the chain of hand-holding disrupted the situation was quickly swept into chaos. Rick kept his axe at the ready, watching for any walkers to make their move. Carl was on his feet as fast as he could be, rubbing his wrist, surprised to find that he was alive.

He looked to his father first. Rick was squinting at something over Carl's shoulder, his expression hard. Then, behind him, Carl heard the familiar click of a hammer being pulled back, and he realized why his belt felt lighter. Carl turned to see Ron raise the stolen gun.

"You" Ron whispered.

Ron held the gun with a near perfect stance. He had been taught by one of the bets, after all. His hands were steady, leveling the barrel at eye height just like Rick had taught him. His grip was sure as he pointed the gun at Rick. His finger didn't shake as it rested against the trigger.

Rick didn't panic. Didn't move. He barely reacted. Carl moved just his eyes to look at him, waiting for his father to talk his way out of the gun pointed at his face. But Rick was silent, staring Ron down as the axe hanging at his side dripped blood onto his shoes.

" _You"_ Ron repeated, this time with more force. Streaks of clean skin shone through the grime on his face where his tears had washed away the blood and dirt. Carl was no stranger to what a killer looked like, and he recognized the same kind of brokenness in Ron's eyes.

Michonne was the first to react and the first to move. She brought her sword up and out in one unbroken motion. Even reacting on instinct, the move carried enough power to bring the end of the sword all the way through Ron's shoulder. The parts of the blade untouched by Ron's blood caught the light from the moon, glinting an unnatural silver in the darkness.

Carl couldn't see her face as it happened, just the precision in the way she moved. Just a flash of reflected moonlight as she pulled the blade back, Ron's face twisting as he struggled to understand what had happened.

Ron's entire body stiffened, his instincts trying to defend against an attack so fast it was already over. His arm swung uselessly to his side, losing its original target. Ron's eyes widened with shock as he went down. Didn't even try to catch himself as he fell.

Ron was almost to the ground when the gun went off.

The confusion and the sound and the pain all registered so close together they were almost simultaneous. The pain registered slowest, but Carl's brain gave it priority.

The walkers were drawn to the noise. Carl could only hear the residual ringing, but he understood the herd's renewed interest as they closed in around him.

He tried to fight, but found he couldn't. He tried to move, and couldn't. He tried to scream, but couldn't.

Through a haze of black and silver static he watched Michonne sheathe her sword, watching the walkers swarm the fallen boy at her feet. She looked first to Rick. They shared a moment of wordless communication, then Michonne nodded, her face relaxing.

Then she turned to Carl, and he watched fear consume her expression. The look on her face was enough to add fear to the list of things fighting for his attention. He'd seen Michonne stare down walkers with nothing sharper than a fork, but he'd never seen panic like this in her eyes.

Carl turned, his moments slow and stumbling.

Through his rapidly narrowing tunnel vision he looked instinctively for his father. Rick looked uninjured, but his twisted horrified expression mirrored Michonne's. Carl stared, struggling against the blackness eating away at the edges of his visions.

Then he understood.

"Dad?" he managed, before he felt his legs give out and he was gone.


	2. Chapter 2

Carl could hear the sounds before he understood them. He stayed still and listening. It took a while, but eventually he recognized them as distant voices. He couldn't make out any of the words, but the rhythm was familiar. The rise and fall of the tone was unmistakably human conversation.

Calm conversation meant there weren't walkers nearby.

He was just coherent enough to understand that he was lying down. And that he was in pain. Pain so consuming it overshadowed everything.

For a moment he though the burning sensation was his brain trying to tell him he'd rolled onto the coals of a campfire in his sleep. That would explain a lot, but in Alexandria they had fireplaces. He slept in a bed. He was pretty sure he was in a bed now, but it didn't feel like his own. It was too soft, smelled too strongly of lemon disinfectant.

Carl tried to raise his arm, expecting to scratch the itch by his ear, but nothing happened. He tried to move his fingers but found them to be heavy. Much heavier than he could lift at the moment. At the moment everything hurt. Breathing hurt. Thinking hurt. Lying motionless and listening to distant voices hurt.

The pain was so intense it was confusing. Maybe this was what being a walker felt like.

The thought shook him, though tensing his muscles only made them feel worse. He wasn't a walker. Couldn't be. The gunshot had probably killed him, that was logical, but there was no way Rick or Michonne would let him come back. Not like that.

The fear that thought held was enough adrenaline that he managed to crack open one eye. Like everything else, it hurt. He pulled in a small breath between his teeth. He was lying on a bed, staring up at a pale white ceiling. The room felt small, dim and unfamiliar, but it was certainly an Alexandrian house. Still neat and clean and so fancy Carl was afraid to touch anything. So that ruled out lying on a campfire. Or a walker chewing on his face.

The overhead light wasn't on, but the shadows on the ceiling looked like the sun was still rising. He tried to lift his head to get a better look and found that to be heavy too. Anything more than controlling just one eye seemed beyond him at the moment. He took a moment, then turned his head to the left. Black dots danced at the edge of what little he could make out through the haze. The window along the far wall was open. The sunlight spilling through hurt to look at, so he turned away.

He needed another moment to work up to it, but eventually he gathered the determination to roll his head the other way. Turned this way he couldn't feel the pillow beneath his face, only the scratch of what he realized were bandages against his skin. Each breath sent spikes of hot pain from one temple to the other.

Michonne sat in a chair by the window. He could only make out her head and shoulders, but the sight of her sheathed sword resting on the windowsill brought a feeling of recognition. It was the first thing to calm him since he'd woken up. The relief was like cold water on his burning skin. Michonne was alive, uninjured, and peacefully looking out the window. Though it hurt, Carl breathed out a sigh of relief.

Her face turned towards the open window, Michonne's eyes were fixed on something far out in the distance. She kept one hand on her sword, the other traced crooked circles on her chin. She hadn't noticed he was awake yet, so Carl tried to say something to get her attention.

The first time he pulled in a breath to say something, absolutely no sound came out. Just a quiet sort of wheezing. He tried to swallow but couldn't.

On his forth try he got out enough of a sound to make her turn around. He'd hadn't exactly planned what he was going to say to her, but it didn't matter because he couldn't even get her full name out. All he'd managed was a mangled syllable that resembled " _muh-"_ but sounded more like a walker than anything else.

It was enough, and her eyes found him. He watched the change in her face, still trying to find rational explanations for the emotions swimming in his chest. Michonne was standing before Carl could comprehend that she'd stood up.

"Get Rick" were the first words out of her mouth, and at first he didn't understand that she wasn't talking to him. Then she was leaning her head out of the doorway, shouting down the hall. "Denise!" she screamed, and the noise was enough to make Carl's ears ring again.

"Denise! Tara!" Michonne called, and suddenly Denise's face appeared from a doorway down the hall. At the sight of him, Denise gasped.

"Holy shit." she blurted, her eyes wide, before taking off down the hallway, Tara following close behind her.

"Carl," Michonne whispered, turning back to him. He'd never heard her sound so small. He could hear her kneel at the right side of the bed, but had to crane his neck in order to really see her.

"Carl." She repeated, her voice shaking like she was crying. She took his limp hand in hers, putting her forehead to the back of his palm. Now he could feel the tears dripping off of her face.

Carl wasn't prepared to be this immobile, this weak, _and_ this scared. A walker had stolen the shoe off his foot and he hadn't been as terrified then as he was watching Michonne cry.

"We almost lost you" Michonne said, still whispering. Seeing Michonne brought everything back. In a way he was grateful for something other than the pain to focus on. He just wished that something wasn't the reason the pain was here.

He squeezed her hand as hard as he could, though it still felt weak. He inhaled, his breath hitching slightly when another bolt of pain swept from the top of his ears all the way down his neck.

It was a fight, but he got two words out.

"Still here."


	3. Chapter 3

Carl didn't realized he'd drifted off again, but the next thing he knew Rick's face had joined Michonne's by his bedside.

He wanted to ask how much time had passed, but didn't have the voice for it. He found his answer in how disheveled Rick looked. He hadn't shaved in what must have been a long time. Rick looked like a mountain man again, almost like he did when they were living on the outside and he couldn't shave. More than the facial hair, it was the look of desperation in his face that reminded Carl of the long months they'd spent surviving without Alexandrea.

Rick was crying. Even through the shimmering haze that covered Carl's vision it was obvious. Even if he couldn't see him clearly, Carl could feel Rick shaking with each sob. Carl had never considered his father old, even though in the middle of the apocalypse looking old was an honor. But now, seeing the way the mixture of pity and guilt and sorrow had aged his eyes, Carl worried just how long he'd been out for.

"Dad?" it was raspy and barely audible, but this time he did get the whole word out.

Carl pushed himself up so that he was sitting, and regretted the decision instantly. A wave of dizziness poured over him. The black dots swimming around the edges of his vision grew, spilling over everything like tar. For a moment all he could see was black. The only reason he knew he hadn't actually passed out was because he could still feel Michonne's hand in his. He squeezed it, so hard it hurt, until he felt like he could breathe again. Until the wave ebbed, and a shadow of the real world started to come back into focus.

"Carl?" Rick asked. Carl flinched at the feel of his father's hand on his shoulder because he hadn't been expecting it.

"How do you feel?" Rick sounded like he didn't really want to hear the answer.

"Dad," he tried again, and meant to say more until someone handed him a glass of water. He downed the entire cup without pausing once. The whole room was silent for a moment while someone—he thought it was Denise, but not enough of his vision had returned to see anything more than just a dull silhouette—handed him glass after glass of cold water until he started to slow down.

When he was finished he put the glass on the table. "What happened?" he asked.

He felt more than saw Rick and Michonne exchange a glance.

Rick was careful with his response. "What do you remember?"

Carl had to turn almost his whole body to get a good look at him. "Most of it." He mumbled. "I remember the wall fell." He took a deep breath. "Who did we lose?"

Rick's mouth pulled into a grimace. "Don't worry about that just yet."

"Don't worry about it?"

"We're worrying about you right now. What do you remember after the wall went down?"

Carl curled his free hand into a fist, focusing on the pinch of his nails against his skin instead of the dull roar in his head. "I remember hiding. Then running. Jessie." He paused, pretending to think about what he was going to say next instead of thinking of the phantom pain of Jessie's fingers gripping his arm. "And Sam. Ron. The gun..."

Carl lifted his free hand to gingerly feel the bandages. There were more than he'd expected. He wasn't sure what he'd expected.

No one else said anything. "I can't see." Carl blurted into the silence, then proceeded to study the floorboards.

This time Carl saw Rick and Michonne exchange silent worry in their expressions, but he didn't understand completely.

"You have to know," Rick started, his voice low and soothing. Carl had heard that voice before, when Rick was negotiating with people who had guns trained on them. "Denise did everything she could."

"Without her—" Michonne chimed in, then reconsidered. "She saved your life."

Carl nodded with enough force that it made him dizzy. "I know. I have to find a way to thank her."

Now it was Rick's turn to study the floorboards. He didn't move for a long moment, then pinched the bridge of his nose, blowing out a long slow breath. "She did her best, Carl. She worked a miracle, believe me. But there was no saving your eye."

Carl turned away, reacting to the news as if Rick had physically struck him with it.

"So. I only..." But he couldn't finish the thought. Much less say it out loud. No one moved, Rick and Michonne gauging his reaction carefully.

Carl remembered the sound of the gun going off. The chaos and the pain that followed. But he hadn't understood that the eyelid he felt blinking under the bandages in tandem with his good eye was only a phantom pain. Removing the gauze wouldn't change anything. This fuzzy picture of the world was as much as he was going to get from now on.

"I'm sorry." Rick whispered. All Carl could do was nod, this time slowly so he wouldn't make himself any dizzier. "Carl, I'm sorry. I am so so sorry."

Carl wanted to comfort his father, but he couldn't. His throat burned.

No one had the courage to look at each other.

Michonne was the first to speak, even though she sounded like she might cry again. "Is there anything we can do? You..you can be alone if you want to."

"No. no, no." Carl muttered, remembering not to move his head. "no, you can stay, it's fine."

"Denise says the best thing for you right now is rest." Rick explained, grateful for words to fill the silence. "That will help you heal the fastest." There was another stretch of quiet when Rick cleared his throat, searching for something more to say.

Carl surprised all three of them by bursting out into laughter. Overcome by a fit of giggles, he pressed a hand to his mouth. Michonne and Rick looked on, concerned.

"No," Carl managed to say, still laughing. "No, it's just..." he had to pause between fits for breath. "It's just funny. It's fucking hilarious. I almost... I almost said, 'could I see her.'"

Then just as soon as the laughter began, it turned to tears.

Carl crumpled forward, cradling his head in his hands. He squeezed his one good eye shut against the stinging tears spilling down his face. They dripped off his chin, obscuring his vision even farther in a hot cloud.

Rick and Michonne let him cry in near silence for a while. He wasn't sure how long. Michonne rubbed his back gently, just like he remembered Lori used to when he stayed home sick from school.

Between hitching sobs he finally got the words out.

"Where's Judith?"


	4. Chapter 4

"I'm kind of afraid she won't recognize me." Carl surprised himself by voicing the fear out loud, he didn't look to see Rick's reaction. The two of them had been passing the time until Michonne returned with Judith in solemn silence. Carl suspected Rick didn't want to make anything worse by saying the wrong thing, but Carl wished he would just say _something._

"It hasn't been that long, Carl." Rick mumbled unconvincingly.

Carl shot him a look that would have been a lot more impressive if he still had two eyebrows. "It's not _about_ the time."

Rick shifted in the wooden chair he'd pulled up next to the bed. "Listen, the first night spent in the infirmary she wouldn't stop crying. No matter what I did, no matter what Michonne did. You know how she gets, just _screaming,_ but the whole night. She missed you."

A wave of guilt settled over Carl. "Yeah. Guess I didn't think about that. I didn't have to deal with the aftermath or anything. Maybe I did get the better end of the deal, being in a coma and all." He grinned, but wasn't entirely joking.

Rick clearly didn't think it was funny, but humored him and laughed anyway. "Honestly though, it will be nice to have another pair of hands. Oh," he looked up. "Speak of the devil herself."

Judith giggled excitedly, playing with a fistful of Michhone's hair. When she saw Carl she reached out for him.

Michonne held her out to Carl. "You got her?" she asked, waiting for him to nod before depositing the toddler in his lap.

"My god, just look at you." Carl whispered. "You've gotten so big." Judith giggled, trying to reach her hands up to his face, but Carl was careful to hold her just out of reach so that she couldn't pull on his bandages.

"She just learned how to roll over on her own." Michonne beamed.

With Judith, the silence was more bearable. Held less weight of what was being left unsaid.

After a few moments a soft knock at the door revealed Denise standing there, her med-kit tucked under one arm. "I'm sorry to interrupt, I really am. But I need to talk to Carl."

Carl handed Judith back to Michonne reluctantly. She fussed a bit, but didn't cry.

"Good to see you're up." Denise smiled, but she moved carefully, like she was worried of breaking something.

" 's been a while." Carl tried to smile back, but with the bandages obscuring half his face it was a struggle. "Thank you, Denise. You saved my life."

"It's my job." She waved the gratitude away. "Now, how do you feel?"

"Not dead." Carl joked as Denise fished in her bag for a pen light

"Hmm." Denise muttered to herself, holding up Carl's good eyelid to shine the small light into his eye.

"What?" Rick hovered over her shoulder. "What is it?"

"Just trying to see what we're working with here."

Denise scribbled something on a notepad.

"How's the pain?" she asked.

Carl kind of shrugged one shoulder, not meeting her eyes.

"Carl?"

"About what you'd expect, I guess."

She sighed. "Just the brave little soldier I expected. Let me get you something."

She held out a worn pill bottle to him, it was an orange prescription bottle but the label was long gone. Carl hesitated for a moment to take it, but once he did he shook one of the pills into his palm and swallowed it down without water.

"One of those a day. With food, you hear me?"

Carl nodded.

"How are you feeling? Any dizziness?" She asked, notepad at the ready.

Denise caught the way Carl's eye jumped up to look at his father before he answered. "I'm fine."

"I see." She closed her notepad and turned to Rick. "Alright, that's it for vising hours. He really shouldn't even be awake at all yet, he needs rest. I'll come find you if there's anything you need to know."

Rick's face fell, but he nodded. "Sure thing, Doc."

Then he and Michonne slipped out the door, Judith beginning to cry as they left.

"Ok. Honestly this time." Denise crossed her arms, turning back to Carl. "How's the dizziness?"

Carl looked to the door, then back to her. "Nothing I can't handle."

"You know you don't have to protect him." Denise said gently, taking a seat on the edge of the bed.

Carl pulled his knees up to his chest to make room. He picked at a loose thread at the end of his sleeve. "Of course I do."

She sighed. "I get it. You want to make this easier on him. But you're not going to do that just by making things harder on yourself."

Carl still wouldn't look up at her.

"Carl, listen. No one doubts that you're strong."

"I do."

"I've seen you pretend like a master. So fake it. Be strong for your dad, be strong for the others. But you have to swear that you won't lie to me. I need to know how you're healing so I can help you. Can you do that?"

"think so." Carl mumbled.

"I won't tell anyone, ok?"

"Alright, alright. I promise."

"I'll hold you to it." Denise held out her hand for a fist bump.

For the first time since waking from his coma, Carl grinned. "You've been spending too much time with Tara" He said, returning the gesture.

Denise pushed up her glasses, blushing ever so slightly. "Well." Then she cleared her throat and became a doctor again. "This time honestly, how do you feel?"

Carl took a shaking breath. "I feel like I should be dead."

"but you aren't. Let's start from there."

Carl snorted, "It ain't much."

"Trust me. These days, it's everything."

"Yeah," Carl sighed, and then he was crying again. Quietly, his breath shaky and shallow. He cried silently, almost motionless, like there was a walker just out of sight he was trying to hide from.

"I miss Hershel" he muttered, using his sleeve to wipe the tears from his face.

"Who?"

"Nothing, nothing." Carl pinched the bridge of his nose. "Forget I said anything."


	5. Chapter 5

Carl heard the knock on the door, but he was too exhausted to move. All he could do was breathe and wait out the waves of pain. He was going to last longer than the pain.

To his surprise, Rick's voice answered.

"It's not locked" He told the visitor, whose careful footsteps revealed her to be Denise.

"How is he?" Denise shut the door behind her as she entered.

His father heaved a sigh, and although Carl's eye was closed, he didn't need to see Rick to know the face he was making.

"Asleep." Rick answered, shortly. "Thank god, just asleep."

Denise moved closer, but not by much. "Rick, you should eat something."

"Not hungry." Rick answered, sounding rehearsed.

"Come on" Denise pushed, and there was a spark of tension in the room when Rick didn't answer her.

"Fine." She huffed after a moment. "But you can't sit in here all day. If you're not going to eat at least help me inventory what we have left. We may need a run soon."

"Um." Rick said, then there was the sound of wood scraping the floor as he stood from his chair. "Right. I can help with that. I'm sorry, I just..."

He trailed off, but there was the sound of Denise patting a hand against his shoulder. "That's the spirit. Come on."

As soon as the door was latched Carl cracked his eye open against the light. He'd mean to stand up slowly, but instead lost his balance and half fell half rolled out of bed. Cursing quietly, he stumbled the short distance to the door. Pressing his ear against the rough wood he could just make out the voices on the other side.

"—me to?" Denise was just finishing saying.

It was difficult, but Carl could make out most of their words. If he'd have two functioning eyes he probably couldn't have heard their words at all, but his brain was already hard at work compensating for the parts of it that were gone. If he held his breath he could make out the conversation clearly.  
Carl did hate feeling like a spy, but he hated being in the dark more.

"It just..." Rick paused. If Carl pressed his eye against the keyhole he could see his father's pacing silhouette in the hall. "I don't think I can do it."

"Rick—" Denise was gentle, but there was an edge to her voice.

"You don't have to lecture me on it." Rick snapped, then took a breath. "Look, I'm ashamed enough as it is. But...Denise if I can't change his bandages, someone _else_ needs to help him."

Carl's hand went to his face. Was he breathing so loud that they could hear him?

"Rick, we've all seen things worse than I can imagine, but—" Denise swallowed, gathering her courage. "Is that what this is really about?"

Rick didn't answer for a long time. He scratched his stubble, then studied the wall just over Denise's head. After a long stretch of uneasy silence he took a breath and spoke.

"I just don't think I could look at him."

Carl was standing over the toppled chair before he could understand he was the one who'd thrown it.

The sudden silence in the hallway told him that the noise hadn't gone unnoticed. Carl flung the door open with more force than he'd meant to.

Rick and Denise both stared at him, standing in the doorway breathing heavily and starting straight back.

Carl's jacket sagged on his shoulders, he hadn't grown back into it after the coma. He knew what he looked like, even he'd only snuck glimpses in the hallway bathroom mirror in the dark after everyone else was asleep.

"Carl?" Denise gasped.

"Carl," Rick shot her a glance. "How's the eye?" He asked.

"Just fine." Carl said, pointing a finger at the uninjured side of his face.

"That's not what I meant." Rick bristled, defensive.

"I'm going out." Carl looked to Denise, "I'm sick of bedrest, and look, I'm fine."

"Carl," she warned, looking between him and his father. "You're not cleared for release yet. I have to dress your wound before you can go back home."

"Well, _somebody_ has to." Carl spat. He could feel Rick shift next to him, but Carl didn't turn to look. "Don't worry though, I'll be back before sundown."

"Carl, you can't." Rick looked at Denise. "Tell him."

"If I have to spend another minute in that goddam room I will blow my own brains out." Carl wanted to shout it, but he kept his voice under control.

"You're not going to listen to what I say, are you?." Denise stated more than asked.

Still, Carl nodded. "I'm going."

"No you're _not_ " Rick insisted.

Denise stepped between them, throwing a look at Rick that Carl couldn't quite understand. "Rick I think—"

"Could you give us a moment? Alone?" Rick asked, then added "Please?"

Denise bit her lip, looking between the two of them one more time. "Alright." Then she put her hands up, and was down the stairs before anyone else could say anything.

"Carl..." Rick started, but Carl moved to push past him in the narrow hallway. "Where are you even going?"

Rick stepped in front of him.

"I'm going to the fence to scare the walkers away with my face." Rick didn't miss the break in Carl's voice as he said it, but Carl still stared determinedly at the ground.

"Carl? Carl look at me."

Carl blinked at the floor.

"Look at me _dammit._ "

Carl held the stubborn silence as long as he could, then muttered, "I'm scared."

"Of course you are. We're all afraid. That's okay." Rick stepped towards his son, but Carl took a step backwards.

"You can't help."

"What? Why? Carl, what are you so scared of?"

"Same thing that everyone else is—"

Rick opened his mouth to say something, but Carl beat him to it.

"Me." He snapped.

A look of shock leapt across Rick's face, though he hid it well.

"I'm afraid of what you'll see when you look at me." Carl continued, becoming more agitated with every word. "Because I'll have to see you seeing it."

Rick put a hand up to his mouth, "No. no, I..."

"I don't blame you." Carl waved a hand, head still bowed. "I make the same face in the mirror."

"Carl, I never meant—"

"Don't you lie to me." Carl barked. "No you."

Rick set his jaw. "You watch your tone."

"No! I don't have time for you to sit here and blow sunshine up my ass."

"Carl, you've more than earned the right to be angry. But I'm serious when I say we're gunna get through this."

"We?" Carl's eye glinted in the low light.

"Yes. _We_ all have to find a way through this. " Rick pointed a finger at his own chest. "I have to live with the guilt! I think about that _every single day_." Rick's voice rose with each breath.

"Oh I'm so goddamn sorry for you." Carl was shouting now, the whole house filled with the noise. "But please take your guilt trip to someone else."

"It's _my_ fault, but I will fix it."

"I am not something you can fix!" Carl roared, "And I'm OBVIOUSLY—" he pointed at his face, "not something you can protect either. Honestly, I did better on my own after the prison."

Again Carl tried to shoulder his way past, but his father grabbed his arm.

"Carl, I thought you were raised better. Why are you being like this?"

"I see the way you look at me." Carl hissed.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Tonight, when you cry yourself to sleep you better be _fucking_ thankful because YOU CAN STILL CLOSE _BOTH_ YOUR EYES AND PRETEND THAT EVERYTHING IS FINE" Carl tried to wrench his arm away, but Rick gripped his son's elbow tightly.

Rick's face hardened. "You're alive. Time to suck it up and act like it." When Carl struggled to free his arm again Rick raised his voice. "YOUR MOTHER WOULD BE SO DISAPPOINTED."

Carl blinked once, twice, then raised his head to meet Rick's gaze.

Other than that he didn't react. Didn't move. Didn't breathe. It was such a carefully controlled absence of a reaction that it was chilling.

"Let me go." Carl ordered.

Rick obeyed, and watched his son limp down the stairs, fumble at the handle, and slam the door behind him.


	6. Chapter 6

Carl was used to waking up to the soft sound of Denise's conversations. But this time it was a shock to open his eye and find he wasn't in the infirmary. At first the room looked completely unfamiliar, black and grey lined the walls and it smelled faintly of rubber. After blinking a few times the objects on the wall came into focus. Guns.

Carl closed his eye again. He was in the armory.

"—the rest of it's in the infirmary still." Denise's voice continued.

"Do you need me to get anything?" There was another voice. It sounded hoarse but it was definitely Glenn.

"No." Her voice was level, commanding. "Not right now, not yet."

"I'm sorry." Aaron's voice came from the far corner of the room.

"It'll be alright, Aaron. But if he has another seizure do _not_ hold him down."

"I'm sorry _I'm sorry._ I just panicked." Aaron took a slow but shaky breath. "At first I thought he was a Walker that'd crawled in here. I damn near shot the kid."

Carl laughed, but it came out more as a cough. "Someone beat you to it." He blinked his eye open to stare at the grey ceiling. "Twice."

"Twice?" There was the sound of a smack and Aaron yelped. "Ow!"

There was motion by his head and this time Carl looked to find the three of them staring down at him. Their eyes fell on him like a physical weight, like the pity there was a boot on his chest, pressing down harder with each breath.

"Don't look at me like _that."_ He snapped, then let out a breath through his nose. He didn't have the energy to be angry anymore. He barely had the energy to sit up.

"Carl?" Denise had her pen light at the ready. Carl flinched, but let her peel back his eyelid to check the way his pupil dilated in the light. Denise sighed in what Carl hoped was relief, though she was guarded enough that he couldn't tell. "You scared the holy hell out of us. How you feeling?"

"Why do you keep asking me that?"

"Do you know what day of the week it is?" Denise sat back on her heels and folder her arms.

Carl cracked a smile, so she seemed to relax.

"Who's the president of the United States?" That one got a chuckle.

"Do you remember what happened?" Denise asked, turning serious.

Carl stared back at her, silent, unblinking.

Denise pushed her hair back, her whole body slumping. "That's okay, that's fine." She put a hand on Carl's shoulder and squeezed. His eye tracked slowly down to her hand, then back to her face.

"Listen, you fell. Had some kind of fit or a seizure or something, I don't know, and hit your head." She glanced at Aaron so fast Carl almost missed it. "But it's fine now. Just a scare, that's all. Has this happened before?"

Carl dipped his chin. "Twice."

"Carl!"

"Okay, okay. Three times, but never for very long. So I didn't tell anybody, it's no big deal. Tara said her fainting spells just went away, though."

Denise narrowed her eyes at him.

"She found me passed out in the kitchen, once." Carl studied the guns on the wall instead of meeting anyone's gaze. "She lied, took the fall about the cup I broke. Tell her I'm sorry, okay?"

Denise put her head in her hands. "Don't worry, I'm gunna give her a big hug. And also punch her. I'm not sure in what order."

Aaron put a hand over his heart. "Get used to that, as a feeling. It only gets worse with time."

A smile played on Glenn's face, though his stance remained serious.

"Listen, Carl." Denise pushed her glasses up her nose. "I know you really don't want to..."

"Don't say what I think you're going to say." His face hardened.

"But you really should work things out with Rick."

"No!" Carl snapped. "I won't. I..." his eye darted around the room. "I can't."

"He's your father. Family isn't something you can take for granted these days."

"You don't think I know that?" Carl lurched back from her, trying to use a crate of ammo to pull himself to his feet. He didn't get very far, so when his knees gave out he didn't have long to fall before he reached the floor again. "He probably doesn't want to talk to _me_." Carl put his head in his hands.

The three adults in the room stood silently, watching each other hold blank expressions instead of watching Carl wipe the beginning of tears off of his face. Glenn was the first to approach him, kneeling so that they would be at the same level.

"Rick will come around. He always does. But you can't just go running off, you might have a concussion"

"I can and I will." Carl said, though there was no strength to his words. He held Glenn's gaze for a moment, but then his eye flicked to Denise. "I have a concussion?"

"Might" she mumbled.

"Oh." Carl's face fell. "Oh, I get it. Because you usually compare...with the other one..." Carl pointed a finger to the damaged part of his face. "Great."

"Um, Carl." Aaron broke the silence, but had no idea where to look. "How did you even get in here? The door's always locked up tight before and after inventory."

"Oh. I picked the lock." Carl felt around on the floor for his hat. "Shane taught me."

"Shane?" Aaron asked, both him and Denise looking to Glenn.

Glenn shot them a look. "Don't worry about it."

"Glenn..." Carl pulled his hat down, so low that the brim almost blocked his face entirely.

"Yeah?"

Carl was silent for a long moment. It was hard to read his face, but it was clear he wasn't actually seeing the concrete floor his eye was fixated on. Carl took a carefully controlled breath in, then out. "You knew her."

"Who?" Glenn looked around to Aaron and Denise but found no help.

Carl was pale. "Do you think she'd be disappointed in me? I mean, if she got a good look at me now." Carl laughed, but no one else was in on the joke. "Probably take me out behind the shed with a shotgun. Return the favor, right?" This time the laughter turned into a hacking cough.

"Should I get Rick?" Aaron whispered to Denise.

Carl suddenly stopped laughing.

"No!" He barked, "You can't get Rick. He was right, that's the problem."

"Carl," Glenn sat back on his heels. "Carl you're not making any sense."

"Of course I'm not." Carl snapped, then he sighed with his whole body. "I gotta get outta here."

"Carl, you have to come back to the infirmary," Denise's voice was firm.

"No I don't!" Carl shot back. "Look, you're trying to help, I see…..I understand that. But I just can't do this right now, alright? I have to go."

"Carl," Denise didn't try to shout over him. "Your father's been worried sick. He's looking everywhere for you. It'll make him feel better to know you're safe."

Carl made another attempt at standing, and although he wobbled, this time he made it. "The thing is, I'm not. But you be sure to tell him that" He spun on his heels and almost ran headfirst into Carol.

"Carl?" she said, at the same time he asked "Carol?"

Carol's eyes swept the room, taking in everything in before she broke into a smile. "Carl, just who I was looking for."

"What?" Carl stared back up at her.

She put a hand on his shoulder. "The place I'm staying in has this set of really fancy china, and I haven't gotten a chance to break it in yet. What do you say you come over to my place for dinner?"

"Um." Carl straightened his hat.

"It's an old family recipe." Carl was still smiling. "I used to make it whenever someone was sick, but I haven't had all the ingredients until now."

"I'm sorry," Denise crossed her arms. "But Carl can't, he—"

"Come on." Carol grabbed Carl's sleeve and pulled him down the hall.


	7. Chapter 7

The two were silent as they walked. Carol occasionally waving to passersby on the other side of the street and Carl looking over his shoulder for Denise or Rick.

"Can't believe we still use the sidewalks in this place." Carol muttered, marching up the driveway of her house, fumbling with the keys. "Like somebody's going to get hit by a car? _Please."_

When Carl didn't follow her inside she stuck her head back through the doorway. "Well?"

"Thank you." Carl wouldn't quite look at her face, he'd focused on a spot just above her shoulder. "I mean it, thanks."

"My window was open. I could hear all the yelling." Carol waved a hand. "Don't mention it." Then she disappeared back inside. "Come on in, I wasn't lying about the soup, you know."

Carl took another breath, counted to ten, and followed her inside.

"Did you really used to make this soup, you know, before everything?"

The house was surprisingly sparse. The walls still stood white and untouched. The pot simmering on the stove was the only sign that a human lived here.

"I used to make all the time when—" Carol paused, then covered the silence by spooning out some of the soup to taste it. "When Edd was sick it was all he'd eat. We'd all eat soup with him in the living room when he took off work. That was our version of a special occasion."

Carl accepted the bowl she handed him, but remained standing in the kitchen for a moment. "My mom would always make me spaghetti when I was sick."

Carol raised a hand, thought about using it to rub the dirt from the bridge of his nose, but reconsidered. "It's gunna get cold if you don't eat it."

Carl pulled one of the plastic covered chairs to the kitchen table, but he let the soup sit untouched for a moment, head tilted to the left slightly. At first Carol thought he was studying the flowery pattern on the delicate blue china, but then his attention snapped towards the open window. "Oh." Carl put down his spoon. "Abraham's crew is back from the run."

Carol turned her head towards the window but kept her eyes trained on Carl. "You think? They aren't supposed to get back until almost dark. Probably someone going out."

"Naw." Carl swallowed a spoonful of soup. Eating still made him nauseous, but he was trying to be polite. "It's the same truck they took out this morning."

Carol raised an eyebrow at him.

"What? Not much else to do on bedrest besides listen." Carl shrugged and blew on another spoonful of soup but didn't eat it. "It's the same van that went out earlier. You know, the big black one that's got a spare tire on. The engine sounds too big to be anything else. Besides, it's coming closer. They'll stop at the gate soon."

"You can tell all that from here?"

Carl tilted his head at her.

Carol didn't laugh, not exactly, but one half of her mouth lifted in what looked like a smile. "And here I thought you'd grow out of that."

Carl sat a little straighter, his face narrowing. "Grow out of what?"

"Even with one eye you could stare a hole straight through a concrete wall."

Carl put his spoon down, watching the way Carol was watching him.

"It's why you're still here. You're smart."

"Smart?" Carl snorted. "I never made it past sixth grade."

"You think you need book smarts to survive out here? A business degree won't keep walkers from licking your skull clean. You're learning where it counts."

Carl stared down at his cooling bowl of soup. "She was always better at the book learning than I was." He mumbled, like he could sneak the words by her if he spoke quickly.

Carol remained silent, but didn't look away.

"But like, even with the practical stuff. She was gunna teach me smoke signals so if we ever got separated..." he trailed off, spinning his spoon in circles through the thick soup. "But she also aced the spelling tests. First time, every time."

Carol pushed her chair back, crossing the small room to press her face against the window. "You make me wonder what Sophia would be like, at this age."

"Me too." He said. The words were quiet, weak. Insufficient. "She deserved better." Carl said, finding that he couldn't admit aloud to missing his old friend.

"The others didn't make it because they weren't strong enough." Carol stared across the road to the swaying apple trees in the neighbor's yard. She had a good view of the main gate from her house. They had just closed it behind the black truck coming in. "We have to believe that the strong will survive, right?"

Carl thought immediately of Judith, but didn't say anything.

"That's why you're still here, Carl."

"Most of me is still here."

"And don't you forget it." Carol turned, staring him down "I tried to teach them, Carl. But you can't teach people to be strong. You either are, or you aren't. It doesn't matter what I said, he still would have—"

Carl cut herself off, suddenly unsure of where to look.

"Oh. Do you mean Ron?" He searched her face. "Oh." He repeated. "Or Sam."

"That's not the point!" Carol snapped, sitting back down at the table across from Carl. "These people, they'd been in the walls too long. They didn't get it. That's why they don't understand us. Because look at you, here you are in their safe haven, and you didn't let it make you weak."

"Weak? Carol, have you seen me lately?"

"You think any of them would have made it out of that alive? Don't you get it? They're all walking on eggshells around you because no one knows what the hell to do with you. You're _still_ a survivor"

" _I_ don't know what the hell to do with me."

"Of course you don't. But you're going to make it. Because you don't need to learn to be strong, Carl. You already are."

They studied each other for a long time. Carl felt like he was at a significant disadvantage in the staring contest. Carol was no concrete wall, but she blinked first.

Carl was about to say something else, but he paused, tilting his head again. "There's someone on your porch."

"What?"

There was a pause, then a knock on the door. The handle rattled, but Carol had locked it.

Still watching Carl, Carol crossed the room and undid the deadbolt. "Speak of the devil." She opened the door and her eyes wrinkled in a soft smile. She looked over her shoulder to Carl, "It's for you."

Rick stood in the doorway, breathing heavily. "Carol, we have to—" he stopped himself when he saw Carl. "Oh thank god."

Rick had crossed the room by the time Carl had stood from his chair. Carl wasn't sure what he was expecting, but the ferocity with which Rick pull him into a hug was a surprise. Suddenly it felt like he hadn't seen his father in weeks instead of just a few hours.

Carl considered stepping away, but he could feel Rick's hitching breaths, feel him shaking ever so slightly. He didn't exactly return the embrace, but he didn't move either.

"I thought you were gone." he whispered, "I thought..." Rick didn't finish the thought.

Rick let go and composed himself a bit. "Denise is worried sick about you."

Carl turned to where Carol was leaning against the doorframe, watching the interaction. "I have to go."

They exchanged a glance, and Carl nodded again. "Thanks for the soup."

Rick didn't say anything until they were outside on the sidewalk. He waited until Sasha had passed them going the other direction, waving at her and smiling warmly, before he broke the silence.

"Glenn tells me you still don't wanna talk."

Carl shoved his hands in his pockets. "I thought about never talking to you again."

Rick raised his eyebrows. "What made you change your mind?"

"Judith shouldn't grow up thinking I'm blind _and_ mute."

"I'd probably deserve it, you know." Rick stopped walking, hands in his pockets staring up at starts beginning to show through the light of the setting sun. "If you never wanted to talk to me again."

Carl followed his gaze to the sky for a moment, before looking out over the small garden patch, watching the thin plants sway in the wind. They wouldn't make it if it snowed early this year.

"I decided recently" Carl shoved his hands in his pockets, too. "That we don't get what we deserve. Not anymore. Not in this world. It makes things a little easier."

"I'm sorry." Rick mumbled. That was all he said, but the weight of the worlds were clear. "I'm sorry."

"Me too." Carl kept his head low, studying his shoes intently.

"Do you wanna talk about it now?"

"No."

The two stood in silence until the sun sunk below the horizon, though some of its light still lingered.

This time it was Carl who stepped into the hug first, buying his face in his father's jacket. He was almost so tall he had to lean down to hug Rick. Carl was crying too hard to get any words out, but still Rick understood.

Rick didn't say anything. Didn't tell him that it was going to be okay, or that he would fix everything or that it could be worse or not to cry. They stood, embracing and collectively cried onto each other until the sky was completely dark.

"I can't," Carl was still crying so hard he was hiccupping. "I can't do this alone. I don't know if I can even do this at all."

"You can do it. I know you can." Rick put a hand on the back of his neck and pulled his son closer. "And you're not going to be alone. Not now, not ever, not really."

Carl didn't believe him, couldn't explain how he'd never felt more alone, but he just nodded.

"If we're going to do this, we're going to have to do it together." Rick's voice was so soft it was almost a whisper, "And that's what I'm the most sorry for."


End file.
